Desperate Straights
by Indigenous Delilah
Summary: In the summer after sixth year,Hermione decides she can no longer stand her seclusion and ventures out to solve some problems on her own,behind the backs of the Order.What she finds,however,is more trouble than she could ever imagine and an unlikely ally.
1. Prologue

(A.N. – This is my first story on FF.N in a very, very long time. I'm not new here, no, I've been a member since 2000, but we all need new beginnings every now and then. This story is, in effect, a new beginning, and one that I'm very proud of. We should see updates rather frequently, but classes are very hard to keep up with these days so I will try to do my best. I love this story, however, and I hope you will as well, so I will be working on it constantly, posting every chance I get.

The idea is, in essence, probably rather original. As you will see in later chapters, I've chosen to go against many of the pre-supposed ideas we have about what happened after the books, what happened to certain characters, etc. This chapter may seem slow-moving, but the chapters I am still working to complete are certainly nothing of the sorts. I think you will like it, and I hope that you'll like the portrayal of the characters and how they come to work together.

Rated for possible content in the future, Romance for the character who you will see introduced shortly in our next chapter…:) I think you'll liiiiiiiike him… hahaha. Well, I do at least, hehe. I'm very excited about the next chapter…

Anyway, go on then, read! And I would love some reviews, hehe. Considering I've been gone for a few years and I've decided to come out blindly once again, I might be needing some encouragement, hahaha.

As always, JK Rowling and Warner Bro.'s own everything, blah blah blah…)

She could still see the last few days of school as clear as if it was yesterday. First years weeping over the loss of their headmaster, the professors stoicly gathered around Dumbledore's tomb, unable to come to terms with what had happened to their mentor, and Harry Potter as he looked on in the ceremony, almost certainly knowing more about Dumbledore's death than anyone else at the Funeral but still the most confused with his emotions.

Out of all of this confusion thus came Hermione, equally unsure of where she stood now as she was when she first boarded the train out of Hogwarts, not knowing whether she would return or not. Had life really changed so much in these short few weeks? Did the world really become so frightening, so unkind in this little amount of time, that even she should be afraid to walk down the streets of her neighbourhood?

It had, it had, and no matter what she did there was no way to make it better. Sirius was gone. Professor Dumbledore was gone. Harry and Ron could not be any farther, and she was left in exile in her muggle home.

Members of the Order, of course, visited her daily, making sure Hermione was safe and the protective charms on her house were up to date, being sure that her parents were keeping themselves in check. As muggles, Hermione's parents, a pair of professional dentists, could not be more horrified of the situation, but over the three weeks Hermione had been home for vacation, they had grown used to the idea. No longer did witches and wizards apparating in and out of their living room in the early hours of the morning or during the eleven o'clock news unnerve them, but they were certainly not enjoying it.

When can I see them, Hermione questioned Tonks every morning over breakfast as she appeared in Hermione's kitchen for a piece of toast and a check-up. When can I go back to Harry and Ron. Why can't we bet together.

"It's complicated," Tonks would reply tirelessly, buttering her muffin as Hermione's parents looked on, observing her frequently-changing hair with curiosity, "You three have to return home. You have to be with your families. We have no use for you right now, Hermione, I'm sorry. You want to help, I know," Tonks would always defend herself, catching a reproachful state, "But it's too dangerous at the Order. No one knows where they stand yet, even the Death Eaters seem confused… it's complicated. And we have to get our bearings. For now, watch…"

"Watch the muggle news, read the paper, keep an eye out on the daily prophet… look for anything suspicious. I know, you tell me every time I ask, Tonks. Please, I want to help, I _need _to help. I can't do this any more." Hermione would persist seriously, her toast always lying uneaten on her plate. This was not a time for eating, this was a time for answers, and she needed them now. She could not spend another day in this home, not knowing where her friends were, being forbidden to contact them, and still having little to no idea of what was really going on in the wizarding world.

"I'll let you know, okay? You're not the only one with frustrations right now… can you imagine how Harry must feel?"

Hermione sighed and looked down to her uneaten toast. She could only imagine, she would tell Tonks, because she was not allowed to contact him, but she kept her mouth shut. She knew it was unfair to challenge Tonks on something she had no control over.

"Listen," Tonks sighed, taking pity in Hermione's sad state at the breakfast table. "I'll see what I can do, okay? Okay? We love you, Hermione, just don't do anything crazy. See you soon." She offered a smile, briefly kissed Hermione on the cheek and, with her muffin in hand, would apparate.

And that's how the trouble began.

Deprived of any true access to the wizarding world, Hermione began to do her research, devoting herself to solving the matter of the missing horcruxes. She searched tirelessly for the location of the Horcrux that had resulted in Dumbledore's suicide mission. RAB. The only clue they'd received, the only thing to hint even an inkling towards what had happened to the Horcrux, and possibly so many others. Given the information, mere letters, one would think it would be next to impossible to determine where to look, where to seek out the treasured object. But she wasn't at the top of her class for nothing. Hermione had narrowed it down skillfully within a few secret sittings at the London National Library of Wizarding Arts, and the results she'd found were not exactly surprising. Regulus Black. The Black Family.

It may have been simply name, simply a family that spanned thousands of years of wizarding history, but it was a start if ever there was one. Tonks and the Order had forbidden her from traveling into wizarding areas. Neighbourhoods, shops, and Diagon Alley especially, but after her brief foray at the wizarding library that led to such a discovery, how could Hermione turn her back on the quest? She could tell Tonks, but they had probably already found the information out themselves. Hermione was smart, but there was a reason the Order included such distinguished members, because they were smart too. Tonks would never tell her, she knew Hermione would run with the information. But she should have known that Hermione wouldn't stay away from doing her research. Given this information, Hermione knew what she had to do.

It was thus on a cold morning that Hermione left her muggle home in the south end of London for Diagon Alley. She needed Black family records. Real estate, careers, businesses owned, distinguished members, anything she could get her hands on to really pinpoint a possible location of the missing Horcrux. It could be anywhere, but Hermione would never find it without the proper resources. She'd been to every Geneaology section of every wizarding library, in fact only two, in the entirety of London seeking out such records. When she told the librarian what she was looking for, however, the grew rather frightened and either turned cold as ice or directed her to the opposing library. It was at the second library that Hermione had found a librarian willing to cope with her request. Unwillingly, the woman instructed her to Knockturn Alley, a small store of which the name was almost unpronounceable. Owned by a Lebanese fellow, the librarian exclaimed, never revealing how she knew this information. The library had removed the records Hermione was looking for in an auction not long ago. Mostly historians were collecting the records that not only included the Black family but also many other prominent dark wizarding families, but there were shop keepers and ministry officials on hand as well. According to the librarian's files, the books Hermione was looking for should be in the Lebanese man's possession now, most certainly not sold off yet. No, they had only been liquidated three years ago, and there was no one person in their right mind that would go looking for such things… the librarian was sure to give Hermione a very pointed look at this point. No, the books should still be there, and the woman gave her an address.

London in the morning was, really, almost the same as London in the afternoon. Or the evening. Or the middle of the night, for that matter. Nothing stopped moving. The sleek black cabs that raced up and down the streets recklessly, occasionally accepting or spewing riders, still swung dangerously around corners, threatening the safety of all who treaded the crosswalks. Diagon Alley proved to be just as busy as well, crowded with hundreds of plump witches and wizards and their offspring, albeit much more cautious than usual. Things inside Diagon Alley had a much more dangerous, secretive air than things out in Muggle London, as if the Londoners outside were missing out on a horribly bad joke. Inside Diagon Alley, ministry officials lined the pathways outside of stores, hit wizards perched on the corner with one hand on their wand and the other on their belt, waiting for the slightest glimpse of trouble. The children didn't seem to pay them much attention, but their parents had clearly become much more aware of their surroundings since Hermione had traveled here last year to purchase school clothes.

Whisking through the crowds amongst the shoppers, she felt like a snake, almost, as if she didn't belong there. Hermione was forbidden by the order from traveling here, that was true, but there was something else about it. Did these people around her know that she was Hermione Granger? That she was friend to Harry Potter, the boy who had both saved them and initiated all of this tension and panic? They must not have, for the patrons barely paid her any attention, a mousy girl in muggle jeans and a pony-tail. She drifted in between the crowds as fluidly as a house elf, unseen by all and certainly unimportant. No one paid her any attention, certainly not the hit wizard assigned to the entrance of Knockturn Alley, and Hermione found herself slipping into the murkier parts of wizarding London without a single question.

Knockturn Alley was, in comparison to Diagon Alley and London outside, radically different. It looked like a muggle western set in Modern Day England. There were shops with their lights on, the occasional vendor perched on the side of the street, but there were hardly any patrons. Those that did emerge from the stores moved swiftly with their cloaks up around their faces, masking their eyes. They behaved like middle aged men leaving an adult bookstore, their purchases tucked under their cloaks offering no glimpse to what it was they had purchased before the men and women of dark origin disappeared into the alley-ways, leaving an empty street once more.

Here, there were no ministry officials standing on the corners, regulating every move, watching for trouble. There was no point, they must have decided, for Knockturn Alley was an absolute seedling of dark wizards. There was no point in keeping watch for they knew that each and every one of these stores was breeding some kind of dark magic in some way. Perhaps they didn't have evidence, but it was common knowledge, and no sensible human being would ever think to enter Knockturn Alley, especially in such desperate times.

For these reasons, of course, it could be said that Hermione was no sensible human being.


	2. Silly girl

She wandered very briefly down the cobbled-street. The stones here were not so worn as those of Diagon Alley where people bustled about constantly. Nor was it as dirty. It looked as if the entire street had been devoid of human life for centuries. It was hard to believe that there were human beings inside these shops, most of which were advertised as open. Hermione glanced inside the store windows as she passed, feeling her apprehension growing. This could be potentially dangerous, of course. Perhaps those in Diagon Alley didn't recognize her, but those in here had histories. Those here were not exactly fine, upstanding citizens of the Magical Republic. But it was important that she find this book, and she knew it. Well, it wasn't important to many people other than herself, really… actually, instead of being proud of her, every member of the Order would, most likely, first scold Hermione for sticking her nose where it didn't belong once she had discovered the location of the horcrux.

If she found it.

If she found this book.

Hermione sighed, growing edgy as she didn't see the store anywhere in site. Perhaps the librarian was wrong, perhaps there was no store… perhaps the librarian lied to her. Her unwillingly ground her teeth, something her parents had scolded against for ages. She'd been had, Hermione decided, seeing no little bookshop owned by a Lebanese man. She'd definitely been had. What a wretched trip, what a wretched idea. How silly to come here into this alley, being leered at without any book, and now to have to…

She paused in her tracks, glancing up.

"Clarkman & George," Hermione read quietly from the tattered sign, swinging in the faint summer breeze. She frowned and glanced in the store window, seeing not only books but every dark object imaginable. It looked to her like a General Store of the Dark Arts, probably selling candy and toys to even the little ones… Hermione smiled faintly and slipped into the little nook alongside the building's frame, crouching purposefully down to the ground.

"Marvelous, marvelous…" she murmured, feeling rather proud of herself. Hermione dug out of her brown tote bag a black shawl she'd taken from her mother and a pair of boyish sunglasses, taken from her Father. Well, her costume selection wasn't grand… but Hermione was smart enough to know she couldn't just waltz into a shop on Knockturn Alley and buy something what with it being abundantly obvious that she was a non-evil teenager.

Humming softly, Hermione wrapped her head in the shawl just as she had seen her muslim neighbours do more than once. Having attended mosque and youth group celebrations with their daughters many times as a little girl, she'd learned how to cover her most important features and yet still look like regular human being and not someone who had gotten in a fight with a blanket and lost. Topping off the look, Hermione slipped her Father's sunglasses on her face, the black lenses shielding her eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath.

Okay, so she was obviously trying to hide her identity, but who on this alley wasn't? For all they knew she could be… the daughter of an affluent Slytherin graduate. Or perhaps of a wealthy ambassador or… well, any number of things. But, certainly, they should have no reason to suspect her of anything other than what she was… right?

Confidentally, Hermione swung her tote over her shoulder, cleared her throat, and emerged from the nook looking like a 1950's Hollywood star, trying desperately to hide her identity. She knew it, but there was no shame in these times when everyone one of these dark wizards looked frightened to be seen in Knockturn Alley. And, with one deep breath, she stepped inside.

Inside the shop, Hermione felt as if her lungs would explode almost immediately from the horribly concentrated level of dust in the air. It assaulted her the second she stepped foot inside, giving way to soft but troubled coughing that had the wispy old man behind the counter sending her confused stares.

"Good… morning." She managed out before another great few coughs took her, Hermione placing her hand over her mouth and trying to appear natural.

"Good morning." The old main replied without any feeling, his hands steadied evenly on the glass counter top, watching her with two suspicious blue eyes.

"I'm just… I'm sorry… looking for some books. A set of books, actually." Hermione pat her chest lightly, regaining control of her body. She glanced off to the side ruefully at the dust visibly floating in the air, as if it should learn its lesson next time. It didn't respond to her looks, of course, but a middle-aged man seated near the window in a comfortable chair with a copy of the "Daily Prophet" seemed to catch her glance, looking up. Hermione offered him a cautious smile, but then realized perhaps smiling was not evil enough, and it quickly turned to a grimace as she swung back around to the old man. He was still staring at her, waiting for instruction, one balding brown perked suspiciously up.

"They're… genealogy." Hermione explained cautiously, coming up to the counter, resting her hands on it as the man did. He glanced down at them, staring at her fingers rather than her face. Feeling awkward, Hermione slowly withdrew her hands, not thinking twice about the muggle candy machine flowered ring she wore on her right hand, a gift from the next-door neighbour's little son. "On the Black family, please."

The man's head shot back up to her face at these instructions. His weathered features suddenly looked amazingly alert and calculating as his deep eyes seemed to scan right through to her soul, analyzing every one of her moral values.

"Why?" He croaked after the body scan was apparently complete.

"Erm, well…" Hermione shifted feel cautiously, unable to contain her nervousness much longer as the man clearly suspected something of her. The man seated by the window too appeared curious now, having raised his eyes to look at her there by the counter. Hermione could feel her cheeks burn under their eyes, feeling so little and insignificant now with these men ogling at her.

"It's for… a family tree." She explained with a soft smile, looking up at the old man through her sunglasses. He smirked softly and Hermione thought briefly that she had him roped in. A family tree, how sweet and sensible…

"Do you think I'm stupid?" The old man replied softly in the same happy tones that Hermione perceived through her voice.

"I'm… sorry?" She questioned, her smile failing.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" The man repeated, smirking now. "You come into my shop… in your silly shawl. And sunglasses. Asking me for my collection on the Black Family… without even a reason. Are you daft, girl? Do you honestly believe I'll just hand anyone my products? A family tree… certainly, in these times. And this ring… this ring…"

Hermione jumped, absolutely startled as the old man seized her arm, yanking it towards him with a forcefulness one would not expect from a 60-something kind old man. No, he looked like he could be her sweet grandfather, but the look in his eyes was anything but sweet as the man smirked evily, twisting her wrist in his grasp.

"What's this? Flowers? Plastic? Looks like it's come from a muggle candy machine… you ridiculous girl."

"Let go." Hermione commanded him tearfully as he twisted her wrist in his grasp, "Please, let go of me…"

"I'm sorry, why should I? Coming here into my shop, obviously some little spy wench… ridiculous outfit for a ridiculous, foolish girl!" The old man released her wrist, giving way to her gracious sigh, but was then quick to snap the glasses right off of her face, revealing her features to him.

"A teenager!" He declared triumphantly, Hermione's father's sunglasses in his hand. He laughed derisively as the man who had been seated in the chair by the window came up from behind, grabbing Hermione swiftly around the arms. She made a noise of fright, attempting to kick him from in front, trying desperately to free herself. The man, however, was strong, and only increased his hold on her the more she kicked.

"Let go!" Hermione cried, ceasing to kick but glaring at the old man fiercely, dropping her charade. "I said… let me go." She repeated more levelly, radiating power from every pore in her body.

"You're so commanding, aren't you? I'll let you go, of course… but you should know how stupid it was of you to come in here. I don't think you know what you're getting into sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Hell, I don't even know what you're up to… but I do know one thing. Next time you come in here, your head goes up there, got it…?" The old shop keeper gestured to a wall of jarred shrunken heads, all bent into horribly disfigured expressions.

"Got it." Hermione replied stiffly and, as the man began to drag her out, spit on the shoes of the old man. He laughed derisively, seizing her hand and ripping the ring off forcefully.

"I'll be keeping this then… thank you." The man smirked, tossing the little ring carelessly into the air as the man from the chair dragged her out, shoving Hermione forcefully into the street.

"And stay out," he smirked, a second later tossing her father's sunglasses out onto the cobbles with her. One more self-righteous look, and the door closed behind him, shutting Hermione out forever. Or so they thought.


	3. The Man in the Basement

(A.N. – Thank you for your interest! Would have updated sooner but exams have been killing me more than I thought, haha. They're over now though, woo! A whole vacation to write!)

Nightfall came much faster than Hermione had expected, although it didn't take long for the men to leave their shop even before the evening had come. Or man, she thought to herself, having taken a brief cat nap between the time she'd been thrown out of the store and the time she was now sitting here, looking out over it and waiting. They both would have left, however, no one dared stay in Knockturn Alley over night, no one. Not even the crazy ones.

So what was she doing here? Well, one couldn't expect a burly old man and his grandson/strong arm to keep Hermione Jane Granger from what she wanted, could they?

No, of course not. She'd been stocked out here longer than the number of split ends on her bushy hair and, damn it, she was determined. So when the clock finally struck 10pm, Hermione felt safe going out for a second shot at getting her books.

She crept silently out of the little alley she'd been residing in for more than a few hours, disguised in her makeshift-veil and glasses as a know-nothing, lounging in the stoop of a vacant building's backdoor where she could just faintly see the door of the shop she was stalking out. The old man had left hours ago, around 5 o'clock. That was about the time she fell asleep however, only a little cat nap, and had awoken to find the sun setting over Knockturn Alley and the last of its frightening merchants shuffling out with boxes and suitcases concealed under their cloaks.

Hermione poked her head around the worn stone wall of her alley, seeing no one coming in either direction, just the faint lights illuminating the damp cobbles. No lights were on save for these street lights and no lights from the apartments overhead were illuminated. It would appear that Knockturn Alley itself had packed up and left, leaving only this movie-set behind, orange and antique.

"This'll be easier than I thought..." she murmured to herself, stepping out into the street normally, not trying to skirt around street signs or posts or anything. Honestly, she was the only one here in this Ghost town, it was silly.

She crept into the niche between the bookstore and another adjacent store and, stealing one last glance behind her to make sure no one was watching, perhaps that strange strong-arm from earlier, Hermione approached the back door.

"Well, First things first… Alohomora." She whispered, gesturing with the skill of a highly-educated witch to the door knob. Honestly, Hermione didn't expect anything to happen, and she was prepared for it with a whole slew of other unlocking charms and techniques that would make even the most experienced hit wizard's head spin.

Surprisingly enough, a soft click met Hermione's spell, and the door popped over very gently, as if it were welcome her inside. She just stood there for a moment, shell shocked… had Alohomora really _worked _on this door? Really? Were they that foolish? Would an owner of a dark arts shop really be so foolish as to use such a weak locking charm that even alohomora would break through…? Well, Hermione thought to herself, furrowing her brown in the faint glow of streetlights, they probably weren't that bright. They were on the side of the Dark Arts… most people on this alley were. It was possible, it was possible. Oh, rats, enough thinking about it, just get the book and get out before your parents start freaking out.

Nodding to herself, Hermione took her own advice and pushed the door open just a bit more, slipping her lithe form inside and shutting it once again with a very faint click.

"Lumos." She whispered, wand held before her defensively. A thin, discreet beam of light seeped out of her wand as if sensing her apprehension, illuminating the dusty objects around her. Hermione was in the backroom of the shop where all of the books appeared to be stored. She briefly drew her wand over the things around her, the faint light creating shadows of all shapes and sizes on the walls. At first, some resembled humans, causing her teenage heart to flutter within her chest, sensing fear. But she was determined… this was not the time to wimp out, not after all of this. It was all or nothing, she thought to reassure herself, stepping forth further into the room, all or nothing.

"Okay… where is it… Not back here, I wouldn't expect… no, storage… Okay…" Hermione sighed a great calming sigh to ease her nerves. Yes, she'd gotten into some trouble into her day, but she'd always done it with a noble purpose in mind and a whole gang of the willing. Tonight, well, she had a noble purpose, but she was alone. And in violation of the law.

"History… Anthropology…Genealogy… Okay…" Hermione approached the shelves in the front of the store, wincing as she found it hard to read the titles of the books under the faint light. She increased her beam, but as she went down the line… she did not see the title she was looking for. 'Siempre Noir,' Hermione repeated to herself, growing antsy as she couldn't find it, 'Siempre Noir…' that Librarian had lied to her. They had, she knew it. How horrible, to come all this way out here and still not have what she needed, to break in and be in violation of so many rules…

"Looking for this?" A silky voice at her ear made Hermione jump at least two feet into the air and scream wildly, flinging herself around and flailing her wand.

"Expelliarmus!" She cried instinctively, the most useful spell she had to her defense without knowing who it was.

"Oof!" A man grunted in the dark as Hermione's wand went black with the spell, sending a few books falling to the ground from the sounds of it. He must have hit a bookcase, she thought, and aimed her wand once again, confused beyond reason.

"Taran… OW!" Had he said anything? Who was _there?_ Whoever it was, was certainly powerful as Hermione didn't even have time to fire off a second spell before his own expelliarmus hit her square in the chest, firing her off her feet and into the shelf behind her, her wand soaring away and out of her fingers many feet away where she could hear it tap on the floor as it fell. The force of it though, it was like nothing she had felt before. Never, no student or death eater, no one had been THAT strong…

"Shameful…" the silky voice repeated as Hermione caught her breath on the floor. A figure came into the few orangey slivers of light streaking across the ceiling. She tried to scream, but the man murmured quietus, his wand in one hand and a book, 'Siemper Noir,' in the other. Hermione recognized him immediately as the strong-arm man in the chair by the window from earlier, the one who had thrown her out. Damn, and she thought they were gone…

She tried to kick him, tried to get up, but the man was quick to grab her around the shoulders, dropping the book with a loud THUMP and holding Hermione away. "No!" He scolded like she were a child, mockery dripping from every pointed feature of his dark, scarred face. "No! Silly girl… breaking in here in the night? Trying to STEAL? I know who you are… Little Miss Hermione Granger. My, you must know what the papers say about you, don't you? And now, oh no, stealing from a respectable businessman… On a downward -- OW!"

It was the man's turn to scream out now as Hermione utilized the only power in the female arsenal that she'd not yet reached out for – she kicked him in his nether regions. And, from the sound of his yelp, it must have hurt.

"Bastard!" Hermione cried as he was distracted and his spell fell short. She kicked him as he was down, crouched on the ground, and swiped her wand and the book, bolting for the door as fast as her legs could carry her, breathing too heavily to bother taking anything else. "And tell your _master _I've got what I –"

A triumphant yell quickly turned into a short, high-pitched scream as a bolt of firm, concentrated orange light erupted from the man's wand where he was still tucked down on the ground, hitting Hermione squarely in the back. "Tell him what?" The dark, scarred man laughed derisively, getting up gingerly onto his feet. "Aw, the little girl doesn't have much to say any more, does she…?" He smirked to himself, approaching Hermione's stupefied body where it lay, half inside the shop and half out. The man laughed again, a horrible, dark laugh, turning her over with his foot.

The book and her wand fell out of their respective hands, lying alongside her pitifully in the dust. Hermione herself was wearing a face of pure shock and fright, her almond brown eyes opened wide in terror. She must have known this wasn't good. The man chuckled again, levitating her body without a single word; a master of wandless magic. "Come on, beautiful… Someone's going to be happy to see you."

Whether it was months, hours, days, however long Hermione had been asleep, when she awoke she felt as if she'd been bombarded with thousands of stones, her body aching from every stretch of her skin. It felt as if she'd been on an all-day ski run with her family, a lovely vacation treat in the Alps. "Mum…" She murmured, stretching her arms over her head, fingers brushing a cold, damp floor. "Mum… it's so cold, turn up the heat, will you? Oh, Merlin, it's cold…"

Hermione sighed, turning over and wrapping her arms around herself, feeling her cheek pressed to a wet, hard floor. "Oh, geez…" She groaned, curling her knees in towards herself and giving another deeper, regretful sigh, having no recollection of the events before this. Hermione opened her eyes in one soft flutter, at first seeing nothing but black in front of her eyes and careful whisps of white light across the ceiling. Across pipes, boards, and muggle wiring… but there were no pipes, boards, or muggle wiring in her bedroom.

She cried out suddenly, sitting straight up as if someone had slapped her across the face. "Mum!" Hermione screamed, feeling like she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn't battle her way out of. "Mum!" She repeated, blinking her eyes and staring around her, seeing the same picture although much clearer now. "Mum! Harry! Ron! …Dad!"

It wasn't just wires and boards, no, but a basement, a full-blown basement with ducts running along the floor into drains, dirt and mold on the walls, no windows but tiny vents near the floorboards. "Oh my god… Oh my god…" Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes and voice as she pulled herself up onto her knees like a child, pressing her hands to the cold, muddy floor but not caring, not having any idea but how to escape, how to get out of here. The shop all came rushing back into her mind, everything. The man, the book… Oh, god the millions of places she could be. In a cell, being tortured, dumped, kidnapped… oh my god… but the book. That bastard, he took the book… she was dead, and she had nothing.

"This… this is not good. Oh, lord, Oh, Merlin, Oh, why did I go and do that… no one knows where I am…" Hermione sobbed faintly, trying to hold the matter in. She didn't want to be a baby, she knew they were listening… maybe. Someone was. They had to be. Or maybe they left her to die, like those war films her Dad watched. Maybe this was where she would die, alone and in the dark… Damn, and she always thought she'd die something noble too.

"Ron… Tonks… Harry…" Hermione cried softly, as if willing someone to hear her. Anywhere. Someone to think of her, come to her rescue. She crawled forth helplessly, thinking maybe the walls would end. She could not fully see them although her eyes were adjusting slowly, but perhaps there would be a tunnel.. a way out… anything.

"Oh!" She cried out once again, fainter and more surprised, as her hand treaded on hair lying on the floor. Hermione quickly backtracked and, in the light, could see that it was not just hair, but a body. It, however, was bound to the floor with what seemed like ropes. An entire human body, long and skinny with a head of messy, unkempt black hair.

"Oh, no, Oh, no…" Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide in what little light was available to them. "Ha… Harry?" She whispered dangerously, afraid of whether he would respond or not. He didn't, and Hermione repeated it again, louder. "Harry? Harry Potter? Oh my god… Oh, no…" His face, his face was too shadowed over for her to be sure, but there was something red glistening in the moonlight, something red and metallic at his hairline. Hermione reached her fingers out to touch it apprehensively, feeling the warm, thick substance having spread far from that little spot, snaking itself down their forehead on a course with gravity. Blood.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried out, throwing herself over his chest in a dramatic show of emotions. "I'm sorry…" she sobbed into his chest, feeling her eyes give way to tears on his robes, black and adorned with buttons down the front. "I'm sorry… I should have known… they came after you, didn't they? Or were you here… but I never knew… Oh, Harry… I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Hermione sobbed into his clothes, one of her best friend's blood on her fingers and him lying beneath her, unresponsive, in this cold, dark basement. Who knew where they were, who knew… he could be dead, she could be dead, or waiting, or waiting… Oh, Gods… Hermione's free hand that wasn't grasping the robes followed his clothes to his face. A well-chiseled face that gave way to a greasy, hooked nose… But before she could formulate any thought process as to why this was wrong, before she could see through her dramatics to realize something was amiss, a strong, spidery hand grabbed Hermione's wrist where it sat on his face.

"I'm not Harry." A strong, silky and familiar voice commanded her firmly, sounding both irritated and downright inconvenienced all at the same time even as they remained underneath Hermione's body and her dramatics. She gasped and froze, that voice more than a little bit familiar to her over the years… the voice that had taken points from Gryffindor every day of the year for six years, the voice that had taught potions and defense against the dark arts and still hated every child with equal contempt, the voice that had killed Professor Dumbledore.

Snape.


End file.
